


The Lives They Left Behind

by traceExcalibur



Category: Homestuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-17
Updated: 2011-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-22 17:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traceExcalibur/pseuds/traceExcalibur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The E%ecutor is led into a ring of bloodthirsty trolls, eager to watch as the last ardent supporter of the Signless is put to death. He bows to his indigo-blooded master once more, and then turns to look at his quarry. Kneeling before him, clutching the Sufferer’s blood-stained Leggings, is the most beautiful creature he has ever laid eyes on."</p><p>This is the story of the noble who gave up everything he had for a girl he had only just met, and of the pirate who watched as an entire army was split asunder by a vengeful demoness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lives They Left Behind

The E%ecutor sits patiently in one of the many tents erected on the edge of the battlefield, awaiting his orders. Thanks to an amazing stroke of luck – a sudden thunderstorm that wreaked havoc upon the rebel army - the rebellion has finally been crushed, and within days, only the scars of war will remain to mark the spot where the Signless and his loyal companions fought their last battle. The entire war is to be wiped from the records, any mention of the Signless banished from the history books. Her Imperial Condescension is unwilling to risk a second holy war, especially if the Signless spoke true when in his last moments he predicted the rise of another mutant-blooded rebel. The E%ecutor, alongside all the other trolls in the empire, will be made to take an oath of secrecy, never to speak of the rebellion or to parade around the heretical sym69ls. All that remains to be done is the clean-up.

The tent flutters open and none other than the Grand Highblood himself strides in, seizing the E%ecutor by the throat and forcing him outside. He hits the ground with a sputter and quickly turns, bowing to his superior.

“Your Grand Highb100d, I am so honoured to serv—“ He is cut off by a sharp kick to the face, his glasses shattering and his head cracking backwards. If not for his abnormal strength, the blow could have easily proved fatal. Instead, he simply falls back and groans, standing only to kneel before his assailant.

“Did I motherfuckin’ tell you that you could get all up in thinking that you could speak to me? DID I MOTHERFUCKING DO THAT, PEASANTBLOOD? Don’t you dare talk. JUST GET ON DOING WHAT I MOTHERFUCKING SAY. Got it?”

The E%ecutor nods and the Highblood drags him to his feet.

“FOLLOW ME. and be all hasty about it.”

The E%ecutor lets the Highblood lead him across the scarred and broken land, through throngs of Cavalreapers and Threshecutioners. The crowds are comprised not only of the Condescension’s army, but of those who defected from the rebellion at the last moment, who abandoned their messiah when the fight became hopeless and bleak. Those few who chose to fight to the bitter end are being paraded away, to be locked up, forced into slavery, or simply done away with in a mass execution.

The blueblood passes by the Sufferer’s jade-blooded companion, and for a moment he meets her eyes. The Dolorosa was a strong woman, strong enough to raise a child while living a life in hiding. Even now her gaze is steel, betraying no hint of weakness while an imperial officer debates with a prospective buyer in an attempt to determine her net value. She will be stripped of her sign and clothes, loaded onto a boat like cargo and sent off to serve some prestigious and wealthy noble. Yesterday, she was ambitious, and clever, and courageous. She was determined to protect her son to the very end. Today, she is nothing more than an object. Property to be bartered with and sold.

The Ψiioniic is to suffer a similar fate, carted away by the Condescension’s best men. He will be tasked with powering her battleship as it sails through the heavens, seeking out and destroying those who dare stand against the empire. Yesterday, he was a brave warrior, an ardent supporter of the Sufferer’s cause. He was the Sufferer’s best friend, and he would not rest until the revolution met with success. Today, he is nothing more than an object. A living battery to power the greatest ship the empire has ever built.

The E%ecutor couldn’t care less for the Sufferer’s followers and their fates. Excepting the Dolorosa alone, they are all gutterblooded trash, lowlifes fit for slavery and punishment. Even the jade-blood deserves to suffer, for abandoning her duties to run off and raise such scum.  They are all pathetic, every last one of them, and he relishes the opportunity to dispose of them. Fortunately for him, he has been selected to exterminate the single most important pest who remains.

“YOUR EARS HAVE BEEN TAKING IN THE WORDS ABOUT THAT DISCIPLE, HAVEN’T THEY? This pretty little lady, up lusting after some mutant and spreading his fuckin’ heresies. I’M GETTING IN ON GIVING YOU THE PLEASURE OF MOTHERFUCKING KILLING THAT MOTHERFUCKER. Best to be making it a good show for me, gutter blood.”

The E%ecutor is led into a ring of bloodthirsty trolls, eager to watch as the last ardent supporter of the Signless is put to death. He bows to his indigo-blooded master once more, and then turns to look at his quarry. Kneeling before him, clutching the Sufferer’s blood-stained Leggings, is the most beautiful creature he has ever laid eyes on.

Her hair is a great untamed mane; ashen locks tangled together and draped over her shoulders, stretching down almost to the clay at her feet. She wears a sleek black outfit, ripped and torn over the course of her travels. Her claw-like hands are gripping the Leggings tightly, clinging desperately to the only remaining shred of her lover’s legacy. And her eyes – the E%ecutor can hardly bear to look her in the eyes…two enormous orange orbs, pupils ringed with olive. The curiosity those eyes might have held has long since faded, and so too have the eyes been bled of tears; all that remains is despair. Reflected in her expression and in her limp form there is no hope, no spark of life. She has accepted her fate, and she is ready to greet her death with open arms.

But the E%ecutor cannot bring himself to kill her.

He tries to draw his bow and feels a twinge of pain, perhaps pity or remorse, but the feelings are alien to him. Why can’t he do it? Why can’t he fire?

He breaks out into a cold sweat, his body nerve-wracked and shaking. He is vaguely aware of the presence of the Highblood nearby, screaming out to the crowd in a frenzied rant, explaining once more their place in society, and what will happen to them if they ever dare cross the empire again. The words barely register in his ears, only breaking through his sudden stupor when the Highblood addresses him directly.

“it’s the holy motherfucking hour, peasant. KILL THE BITCH. and make sure she motherfucking is screaming.”

All eyes are on him, now. Slowly, agonizingly, he brings the bow up and puts his arrow in place…but still, he cannot bear to draw it back. The crowd waits with bated breath for the shot that will never come.

“are your sponge clots all clogging up? WERE YOU BORN WITH A PROBLEM IN YOUR THINK PAN? getting you all up and confused over what all you’re meant to be doing? OR ARE YOU ACTUALLY. motherfucking actually. DISOBEYING A SUBJUGGLATOR? you’re all inviting me to get on cracking open a bottle of the good harshwhimsies over your motherfucker skull. GET TO KILLING HER, OR YOU’LL GET TO BEING KILLED.”

The E%ecutor is terrified. No one has ever dreamed of standing up against a Subjugglator before, especially not the Highblood himself. But some spark of defiance is sprouting inside him; it was always there, he realizes, pent up over years of abuse and ready to break free when the time came. Only now is it about to bloom, triggered by a sudden burst of compassion, and he can do nothing to stop it. His voice is small and weak, but he finds it regardless and utters the one word he never dreamed he could say to a superior.

“No.”

A hush falls over the crowd, the shocked trolls backing away from him. He can sense the Subjugglator’s burning stare, a horrific and terrible aura washing over him as the Highblood speaks again.

“the motherfuck did you just say, gutterblood?”

“I said no. I cannot harm the girl.” It is remarkable how easy he finds the words this time. He lets the bow drop to the ground and turns to face the Highblood, steeling himself in spite of the nightmarish sight that awaits him. He clenches his fists, assumes a fighting stance, and bellows. “I will not harm her! Nor will I allow you to lay a single finger on her!”

Moments ago, daybreak was near, the sun about to burst through the clouds on the horizon. Now, however, the land is shrouded in darkness. A strange indigo mist has fallen around the E%ecutor, and the wind is howling. The air is alive with the sound of a thousand mirthful horns echoing out a chorus of chucklevoodoos. At the edge of the circle, the Highblood is simply laughing. His dreadful cackle is swept up into the sudden storm and carried out into the mob, paralyzing the crowd with fear. He stares down his new blueblood prey, his eyes a bloodshot indigo, alight with rage – and then without warning, he charges.

The clown’s fist shoots out and the E%ecutor blocks the blow effortlessly, surprising even himself with his strength. His momentum brings him forward and his own fist collides with the side of the Highblood’s jaw, nearly shattering it. The Highblood staggers backwards and lunges again, only for the attack to be deflected once more. He dashes back and leaps at his prey with another flurry of useless attacks. The blueblood parries all of the strikes with ease while connecting with his own. Still, no matter how many punches he throws, the Highblood seems unaffected. His body is battered and bloodied, yet he keeps laughing like a madman, murder in his eyes.

Eventually the E%ecutor begins to tire, and his opponent takes advantage of his weakness, drawing a pair of spiked clubs and launching a new, frenzied assault. The first strike barely punctures his rough arm when he blocks again, but the second strike catches him in the gut and winds him. Before he can react, the Highblood’s hand is at his throat, pushing him to the ground and constricting around his flesh. He turns his head to see the Disciple still kneeling, her eyes wide with shock. He manages to choke out a single command before the Highblood’s grasp silences him.

“Run…”

The girl stands up shakily and gives him a last, tearful glance before absconding. Her ragged outfit whips around her as she bolts through the stunned crowd, weaving her way past them. The Subjugglator pulls back, letting loose a guttural roar and rounding on the Disciple, intent on seizing the heretic before she can escape. The E%ecutor tries to stand and stop him, but it is too late…he cannot get to his feet in time. He crashes back to the ground just as an odd blue glint shines from somewhere in the audience…and then an explosion rips through the crowd.

The congregation dissolves at once, panicked trolls running off as fast as their legs can carry them. The aftermath of the sudden blast has left an ethereal blue smog hanging the in air, obscuring the Disciple’s escape. A shadowy figure whips through the smoke and seizes the E%ecutor by the wrist, sharp nails biting into his skin and dragging him upwards. Together they stumble away from the scene, breaking into a dash as the Subjugglator lets out a furious shriek from somewhere behind them.

Minutes pass in silence as the E%ecutor and his new companion flee from the battlefield, tearing through burned-out forests and charred cliffsides. His mind is alive with a thousand questions, and a thousand regrets. The rush of power he felt at betraying his superior is beginning to fade, replaced by an uncertain voice in his mind, asking “What now, gutterb100d? What will you do now?” Eventually he slows and turns to look behind him, looking past the horizon at the life he left behind. His impatient saviour tugs at his wrist, and a barking female voice rings out.

“Keep moving, you im8ecile. Day8reak approaches and if we cannot reach shelter 8y then, our 8urnt-up 8odies will surely 8e left to decor8 the wastes.”

“But the girl—“

“Forget the girl. She was a8le to a8scond, you’ve done all you can for her. I haven’t the faintest idea _why_ you would choose to spare her life, at the cost of yours…8ut you have made your decision, and no amount of worry is going to change that. Now move, 8efore it is too l8.”

He remains in place, taking a moment to inspect his rescuer. She is below him on the hemospectrum – her blood is cerulean as opposed to his navy, this much is clear simply from her outfit. She wears a dark black jacket with noble azure trimmings that serve to accentuate both her symbol and her bosom. The jacket stretches down to her waist, where it is replaced by a ripped and battle-worn dress of similar hue. Her hair drapes down almost as far as the Disciple’s, and it is just as matted and tangled. Jutting out from her skull are two abnormally shaped horns, one forming a crescent shape, the other hooking sharply downwards.  All these features, striking as they are, pale in comparison to her eyes – one of them is normal, but the other contains seven pupils arranged in a strange circular pattern.

“Who e%actly are you?”

“You cannot recognize me? I am ashamed – I had thought my stellar reput8ion would precede me, 8ut it seems that there are still some in the empire who have yet to see my 8eautiful visage plastered upon every wanted poster in their town.”

She curtsies in a mock imitation of politeness, and spins around with a dramatic flourish.

“I am the Marquise Spinneret Mindfang, dread Pir8 Lord and feared leader of the Gam8lignants. Through years of thievery, deception, and seduction, I have amassed a very respecta8le 8ounty on my head. And now I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Executor.”

He immediately reaches out and seizes her, pulling her in the opposite direction. “This is una%eptable, I cannot associate myself with lowlife scum…I have no choice but to turn you in to the authorities posthaste.”

Incredulous, she wrenches herself from his grip, finding it surprisingly easy due to his sweat-soaked and slippery body.

“I 8egin to wonder if I was mistaken in choosing to rescue you. It is o8vious now that you are as insane as the other 8lue8loods I’ve had the pleasure of encountering.”

“Do not % me, woman. It is my duty as an E%ecut—“

“You are no longer a mem8er of the empire! You 8etrayed one of the Su8jugglators, and attacked him. You are as criminal as I, and should you attempt to take me 8ack to those monsters we will 8oth 8e put to death. You would do well to a8andon the 8eliefs you once held, for they are useless to you now…you are not an Executor, but an Expatri8.”

He stops dead, her words smashing over his head like bricks. His knees buckle and he collapses. Only now does he begin to realize the full magnitude of his actions – he is a criminal. He is scum. He is everything he has despised from birth.

Mindfang scowls and tries to lift him back to his feet.

“If you still 8elieve yourself a slave to the High8loods, there is nothing more I can do for you. 8ut realize, my dear, that you are no more than a rust8lood to them now. Your no8le pedigree 8ears no value in their society. You are dead to them. As if they ever treated you as any more than a tool in the first place…” She scoffs and looks out to the horizon. “They will find another to take your place. 8y the end of the perigee, you will 8e no more than a forgotten wanted poser, hanging dilapid8ed on some wall.”

His body burns red hot with anger. His entire life spent subservient to the Highbloods. His entire life _wasted_ in obedience, and now that life is gone simply because he could not bring himself to kill one girl. He wants so much to break something, to kill and to maim, to let out the anger pent-up over sweeps of mistreatment…but Mindfang spares him no time for grief.

“We must 8e moving. Come.”

“Where to? What is left for me now?”

She clicks her tongue impatiently, retrieving a strange white orb from her coat as she speaks and staring intently at it. “That is not for me to decide. I will take you to my ship, 8ut from there you are……..”

She trails off, looking at the ball with a confused expression. She glances at him, and back at the orb.

“Wait here. I will 8e 8ack momentarily.”

“I will not stand to be ordered around by a lower b100d such as yo—“

“Wait. Here.”

She growls out the command and stares him directly in the eyes, and he stops dead. She marches off into the distance, stopping after about a minute and consulting the orb again. Darkleer watches curiously as she looks at it, then off into the distance, and then back to him. She returns to him with an odd, almost unreadable expression.

“There has 8een a change in plans – I will escort you to my ship and I will personally oversee your transform8ion into a free man. We will fa8ric8 a new identity for you, and I will assure you protection from those who would justice against you. You will need to life a life of solitude, 8ut you at least will live. In return, I ask only one small favour.” She holds up the orb and thrusts it into his bewildered grasp. “You must keep this safe, at all costs. Allow me to retrieve it when necessary, 8ut hide it away otherwise.”

“Why sh001d I listen to you? For all I know you seek only to deceive and destroy me.”

“You should listen to me 8ecause I am all you have left, and for no reason more than that.”

“And this orb. E%plain to me why it is of such importance.”

Ignoring him, Mindfang stares off at the rising sun, and then looks to the stars. Her eye glows with a faint white light for an instant, and then she points off into the horizon.

“Follow me. The ocean is near, and there we will find my ship. While we walk, I will explain to you my story…

This or8 was stolen from a great and terri8le Doctor, a skilled manipul8or who took me in as a protege. He mentored me, teaching me many things – 8ut he sought only to corrupt me, and 8ind me to his will. Even now, I 8elieve many of my actions will serve only to further his goals…8ut I am determined to live a life free from his taint. 8efore I left his company, I took with me a parting gift, and I have 8een keeping it a closely guarded secret ever since. He is nearly omnipotent, and such a foe would normally 8e difficult to conceal a secret from, 8ut there are certain spots on this world that he is 8lind to. 8y seeking out these spots and a8sconding to them whenever I have felt his gaze upon the 8ack of my neck, I have managed to avoid him so far.

You are one of those spots.”

“E%cuse me?”

“This or8 is an oracle, attuned to his omnipotence. It can answer any question asked of it, though it often o8fusc8s the truth through clever interpret8ions of my queries. When I consulted it just now, it could not draw on the Doctor’s power. This intrigued me, so I consulted it again after leaving your side. It was working once more, and I asked it a8out you........it did not know who you were. Inexplica8ly, you seem to gener8 one of the dark spots I mentioned. So long as the or8 is kept near you, the Doctor will never 8e capa8le of finding it.”

The E%patriate is struggling to take the information in, his mind still at war with him over his stand against the Highbloods.

“What brought you to me in the first place? Why did you choose to rescue me, when I should have e%pected death for what I did?”

“The or8 led me to you, of course – not directly to you, 8ut to the site of the Sufferer’s final 8attle against the Condesce and her imperial army. I asked the or8 which side I should support – who would win. It misled me – I was told that the Signless would live after the re8ellion. It is clear to me now that the or8 referred not to the man himself, 8ut to his legacy. A legacy that will 8e carried on, most likely, 8y the Disciple you chose to spare.

In any case, I 8elieve that the or8 meant for me to see firsthand the collapse of the re8ellion. When I arrived to support the Signless, my travels 8rought me to a cliffside high a8ove his camp, and 8efore I could descend, a gr8 cataclysm rained down from a8ove. From there, I 8elieve I was the only soul to 8ear witness to the full scope of the disaster that led to his demise. You see, it was not a mere thunderstorm that laid waste to his army. It was a Demoness.”

“What a f001lish thought. There is no such thing – you were hallucinating, to be sure.”

“My vision 8fold protects me from petty illusions and hallucin8ions. I am certain of what I saw. It was a woman, clad in shimmering green, hovering almost in the clouds themselves. She raised an arm and let it fall, and with a crackle of energy the skies split apart and tore the camp asunder. The re8el army was left in ruins, and the Condesce’s men swooped in to deal the finishing 8low.

I chose to remain there, and watch as the Sufferer and his Disciple were put to death. Amongst the din of the crowd, I was unnoticea8le. I dou8t, until I made my move and swept you away from the High8lood, that any8ody even recognized me.”

“But why did you save me?”

“8ecause I had never 8efore seen such a 8razen, courageous display. No8ody would dare openly defy the High8loods…even I do my work in the shadows. For you to stand against him and save the girl…I must admit, it was romantic. It touched my heart, and I decided to rescue you. I don’t regret the decision in the slightest, now that I am aware of your special gift regarding my or8. I can only hope that you do not regret your decision, either.”

“…I c001d not bring myself to kill her. From the moment I saw that beauteous creature, I knew I had to protect her. It was e%crutiating. I was unable to kill her, but every nerve in my think pan was screaming out, urging me to destroy her…I have no idea what I sh001d do now, but I do not regret my actions. I will not let the Highb100ds control me any longer.”

He is greeted by a smile.

“Spirited. I expect no less from the man I risked my life to save.”

Their discussion has carried them straight to the edge of the sea, and the sun is burning down their backs by the time they reach the Marquise’s ship. She puts a hand to her temple and waits as one of her sailors lurches up to the edge of the ship, almost as if in a trance. Wordlessly, he lowers down the plank leading up to the deck and then heads back into the underbelly of the ship. She takes a step onto the plank and then turns back to the E%patriate.

“I never caught your name. What is it?”

It has been ages since anyone has asked the E%patriate his name. He believed that lowbloods were not fit to hear it. Highbloods would never deign to ask his name. Those of his own class were far too busy to associate with him except on rare occasions. The chance to be treated as an equal to someone is strange to him, but he is not altogether displeased by the sensation.

“I am called Darkleer. E%patriate Darkleer.”

The pirate extends her hand, and Darkleer takes it, meeting her smile with his own and stepping onto the ship.

“Come, Darkleer.” she says, gesturing towards the bright horizon. “Your new life aw8s you.”


End file.
